PPR: another reason I need to keep being a time manager

I was researching the "Content is King" reform movement as it has influenced changes in teacher education programs (that is a movement away from BAs in Education towards other disciplines), and ran into a website based on a book, "Chalkbored."  This is pretty interesting and I didn't want to forge the author's idea. He contends that students of this generation have trouble getting intellectually stimulated in school due to how teachers' PPR, or Preparation to Presentation Ratio (which basically means "production values") -- is far lower than movie producers', for example, so of course the scintillating quality of the information presented to them is going to pale in comparison. This gives me important food for thought as I contemplate the fact that I am teaching a NEW PREP next semester!

Picturesque Father-Daughter Picture, and another reason to be proud of Jackson

This is a picture of African-American novelist Richard Wright and his daughter, Julia. I finished Margaret Walker's Jubilee recently, and it's made me want to delve into the genre of African-American Lit and Historical Fiction with themes of US race relations. Perhaps Wright's Black Boy is soon in my queue. Did you know both Wright and Walker lived in Jackson, MS, at some point in their lives? Wright spent much of his boyhood there; Walker was a professor at JSU.

Friday Morning Haiku

Used to be I felt
Left out, but now I wouldn't
Trade for anything

Respect and Compassion

Leave it to a TV show about teenaged coming-of-age angst to have some great lines. (Maybe I'm trying to redeem myself from liking something I might have previously thought I shouldn't- but which proved to be insightful and ...right up my alley?!) True to my ongoing thematic interest in COMPASSION as it is disected by Christian writers and celebrated by secular humanists alike, here's todays food for thought:

"Respect is not commanded through fear; it is earned through compassion." -Pacey Whitter, Dawson's Creek

Aptitudes of Artistry, within Quadrants of Belief

My friend E and I were recently discussing the fact that some of the world's best artists, who speak most poignantly into the human condition, aren't Christian, or do not/ did not advertise it if they are/were. We were looking at a quote from ee cummings on her classroom wall, posted near her desk. She's St. John's Great Books-educated, and probably one of my best-read, most artistically-savvy friends.

I think our observation is pretty true. The most intriguing thing to then consider is why God would choose to do it that way- speak truth where we may not expect to find it; have those 'get it' ("it" being life's perennial blows and how the inexplicability of pain, and the [seeming?] injustice of its disparate distribution, matters) who those on the in's might assume do not get it ("it" being, the true fact that God is interested in our redemption into His loving- yes, loving- hands).

Here's an illustration. Some Christian artists DO get it, both "it's," but the layering of meanings and capturing of paradox, contradiction, and felt frustration isn't quite as penetrating or intricate as another artist might have done it. It's still a good work, though. Below is an excerpt from The Chance, a book by Christian writer Karen Kingsbury. I wrote it down from my audiobook because it resonated with me. It's not exactly eloquent, but correctly/aptly captures that gut-wrenching fact of life -- irrevocable or incomprehensible losses, albeit without subtlety:

"How many letters had she written, and how had more than a decade gone by? The weight of it pressed against her heart. There was no way to calculate all she'd missed. High school and homework, prom and graduation. Thousands of goodnights and good mornings and everything in between. Her precious Ellie would be 26 years old now, all grown up, years removed from the girl she'd been growing up in Savannah."

It might be interesting to start a list of artists (authors, painters, graphic designers, lyricists...) that fall in different quadrants of faith: professing believers, unprofessing believers, professing unbelievers, unprofessing/ambiguous unbelievers.

Tricky Eucalyptus

I went on a few morning runs in San Diego. I don't want to forget this seedling of an idea: as I ran past some rather snarly looking bushes/trees, I was met with the WONDERFUL aroma of eucalyptus. It was probably the most pleasant thing I ever smelled, ever. Better than the best perfume in the world. The paradox of the plant's appearance (maybe pretty in an isolated camera shot, but when the leaves/petals are altogether, it looks disorderly and un-vibrant) and its extraordinary fragrance.

Can we apply this concept to other aspects of life, or to people? Where the pre-judgments based on appearance led us astray from ever knowing (or being able to guess at) the good things they contain and emit? This hints at the (sometimes obnoxious, sometimes delightful) paradoxes of beauty-- how the easy-on-the-eyes type fades, but lesser-seen forms of beauty remain intact through decades, lifetimes. The form that is at first unimpressive is the one that provides, that gives beauty to its environment in an unexpected way.

If you only knew your goodness

If you only knew
The way you made me new
Inside my heart
The repairs weren't few

If you only knew
My appreciation for you
Words of life spoken to me
My vision renewed

If you only knew
The hope I have again
The freedom, courage, health[ier] spirit
I have back in my reservoir again...

It's because of you. your goodness.

A Let-Me-Lavish-You Kind of Love

I've been thinking a lot lately about my parents, what complex people they are. How they are, in fact, people. Which means they have made errors and faced hardships just like I am encountering now in my twenties--each new year seems to bring with it a new discovery about life and its many opportunities to feel ill at ease. (As well as to feel good; I'm not trying to be a dour pessimist. But as Ann Brashares notes in My Name is Memory: like Southerners remembering the fallout of the Civil War, "You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.” I can't deny there is some weighty truth there.)

Anyway, I've been considering the painful fallout each of my parents has faced throughout their lives. I am immeasurably impressed and relieved at how they each have insulated their reasons for bitterness and absolute distrust of God's goodness or the goodness of those they've mostly dearly loved (that is, each other), from me, their daughter. they have each loved me in a let-me-lavish-you kind of way. The image to come immediately to mind is that of how my friend from undergrad, Steph Chan, describes God's love for us: "Imagine a dumptruck. Imagine you standing behind it. Imagine God releasing a dumptruck of love onto you, covering you completely in His love." Like that.

Of course, being the younger child, I have the benefit of greater naiveté. Things weren't as peachy as they appeared from a teenager's point of view, whose losses were greater than mine, as a 7-year-old. One of the most unpalatable facts of life is how horrible outcomes are never split evenly between parties. I've long felt that between my brother and me, I've gotten the easier half of everything. I think he would agree, and he is so right to.

My parents, though: after the divorce, my dad raised me full time. He doted upon me to a fault. He made me a literary, athletic, extroverted, school-oriented, curious-about-God girl. Yes, I did just write that: "he made me." I do credit him with much of how I developed into the "mix of colors" I am today (thank you, C.M., for that compliment...and thank you, C.C., C.Y., N.M., D.L., and C.M., for always defending his character). After his death, I've become close with my mom again. It's a pretty amazing story of redemption going on before our very eyes. How do we "redeem the time" lost in childhood (see Ephesians 5:15-17)? We've spent a lot of time together lately and it's pretty awesome what God can do to mend families, one day at a time. It's discovery for me to find out who my mother is, in terms of her personality and rooting out the source(s) of her perseverance. Our family's story is not a fairy tale, I assure you. We don't match with the more functional parts of our extended family. But it does feel right and good, the progress our little unit is making towards God's vision for how He created us to be.

What strikes me when I think about both my parents is that they have both succeeded in making me, their child, feel so loved. Maya Angelou's quote captures it so perfectly: "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” 

Now, I am a person who remembers the exact words that come out of the mouths of people most dear to me. I write them down, often, because I don't want to forget them. But sometimes, those words (if they're claims of love) don't prove true in the long run of how they do or don't love you. And people's actions? The difficulty of forgiveness proves that people's actions toward us (for us or against us) are mammothly important in how we relate to them. I've always thought, before today, that Angelou's quote was a little simplistic for this reason. But I cannot deny that how a person makes you feel is a unique indicator of their quality of love for you. I can compare significant others (with each other) and family members (with each other) along these axes, and I find startling differences. I feel much more loved by some than others, even though the fact of their spoken love is, on the surface, equal or the same.

The quality of love... Lord, let me be wise in response to the high-quality love I get to receive in this life. Thank you for directing that quality of human love that way, towards me. May I make your creations feel especially loved too-- remove the me from interfering and let it be all You streaming through to them.

Bordering Fuchsia

After I finished my preliminary exams, my boyfriend sent me purple flowers. It was one of the most loving gestures he could have done, not because I'm a flower fanatic or a die hard romantic, but mostly because he recognized and agreed with the enormity of the occasion, from my point of view. It marked a significant point of triumph, relief, accomplishment, and even giddiness -- that I had learned all this new material that is so darn interesting to me, and written gobs about it in a short period of time. The feeling of productivity was enough for a high.

But then, this delivery (which came mid-nap) ushered in a new kind of celebration: the realization that I'd reached that magical hour in which I had permission, at long last, to finally finally REST, and sense enough to take full advantage of it. (In the note accompanying the flowers, he actually did spell out instructions to go sleep.) I could (and did) sleep with no regard to time; do leisurely activities, watch TV, read non-sociological material. This past week I've found myself prioritizing time with girlfriends, packing in three-a-days thrice. I've started hacking away at to-dos long overdue. I've started, in other words, caring for the upkeep of my own life, beyond my career path.

And that time has flown. A week has already passed since the end of the exam.

This past week I've also found myself reveling time and again in those flowers. They are a profound marker for me: they are a symbol of one's love for me, in spite of my pretest self absorption, and posttest -- ok, self absorption. I really am a time manager (I'm fondly reminded of --- in the WB show "Felicity," who's always drilling herself on organic chemistry compounds with flashcards in one hand, and a stopwatch in the other...here's hoping I can be her!), sometimes to a fault. I've not always done a great job showing my love for family and dear friends when studying hangs in the balance. I love to give my time to reading, studying, writing, researching, as if that were my lover. Maybe because I am comfortable there. And feel competent there. And darn it, I just enjoy it and the process and the product it brings. BUT, when placed above people-- that's disorder. Not to mention painful.

But I digress. The flowers: they are really beautiful to me. The main color in the bouquet is an unusual delight: a luminescent purple, bordering fuchsia. I usually never have flowers to brighten my apartment. So they represent not only a symbol and reminder of someone's love, but they also bring beauty where only functionality reigned supreme before (that is, the dining room table).

I also love them because they make me think. Yesterday, day 6, I noticed something peculiar with the flowers as I stared them down whilst writing in my journal. Some miniature tulips nestled in the middle were beginning to droop down. Not dead yet, they were getting there. Rising above the bouquet, some yet-to-be buds were almost bursting. These were not yet in their adult glory. And other flowers were presently in their prime: glowing, healthy, their petals stretched like a young yoga instructor's arms and back, reaching for some great height.

Isn't life like that too? Aren't we always watching some things pass away, some things almost-bloom, some things shout their present glory? Maybe each flower is a blessing, or maybe they each represent facets of our own personally well-known facts of life. Maybe what's decreasing are my former obsessions, hopes, dreams. Watching them fade is sad. But God, who created these flowers, and me and my whole lifespan and each day in it, won't let the bouquet be only that. No! Look: there are gorgeous things going on right this second, and indeed, they occupy the bulk of this bouquet. I'm alive right now, I'm bearing fruit, and it's even pretty. And, I can only imagine what those buds within them hold. What glory will they bring?

Splintering

I can be deep in one part of me,
and quite shallow in the other.

Bright-minded in one reflection,
Dark in my assessment of another.

Joyful as I recognize new pathways,
Mournful as I remember those grown over.

Giving as I accurately estimate my blessed resources,
Stingey as I allow fears of being cheated to overshadow them.

Free and weightless and prepared to run the race some hours,
Burdened, weighted, and constrained at others.

So today I seek to
plunge deep,
absorb sun,
joyfully walk,
happily give,
energetically run:

Remembering every moment that I am loved,
Despite splinters I get when I run my hand over
The wood of old structures needing repair
Or perhaps my hand needing a new surface.

Equations and a Presentable Home

Most things in life can't be understood in formulaic terms. Except maybe this one thing. I can't help but think that the parallelism in this verse hints at some degree of "this equals that:"

He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases. (Ps 103:3)

The context surrounding this one verse pertains to recognizing the good things God has given to me, and the good thing He is in the process of making my life about. And that uniting theme which He is increasingly making my life be about is the reflection of Him in all my life's circumstances and all my heart's aches and desires-- to make every element of my life cohere into agreement with one central theme, that is, to exhibit His character of goodness, restoration, and redeeming love for me and for all people.

So I think it's a safe inference, based on sentence structure and context, to say that forgiveness is one of those devices by which God gives the good to me. It is a highway by which he extracts the bad I have done before it poisons my identity. But He removes it in such a way that I still remember, still experience a sting from what I've done. That way, I have a new, vital awareness of my own part in and responsibility for harming His creation or tarnishing the state He intended it to be in. So, forgiveness teaches me without jading me, or letting me unjustly off the hook and equally prone to commit the same damaging act again.

Forgiveness -- God's forgiveness extended to us, to be exact -- is a complete, comprehensive thing (note: "all"). God is not a selective Forgiver. He's about restoring the whole house, not just a room. In that way, God's brand of forgiveness is a creative act aimed at refurbishing what was lost and bringing it back to its former condition.

I study God's forgiveness in order to understand His design for how I forgive others for the ways they have damaged, harmed, or tarnished me, as well. It's true that once transgressed against, I am and can no longer be the way I was before. But I am not worse off than I was before I was hurt, and here is why.

God is interested not only in forgiving, but in healing. That is, He cares not only about restoring me to a spiritual state in which He and I can get along, but also in restoring me to a mental-emotional state in which I can function and even blossom and bloom. That is, He doesn't just come over to my house to repair its toilets, clear its defunct drainage, paint its walls, brighten its windows, and spruce up its hallways, so that I don't have to be ashamed of the condition it's in. He also comes to remove the things within it that could make me sick: He cleans its carpets, clears its airducts, and removes its pests. He gets into the seen parts that are making me unhappy, uncomfortable, and downtrodden in spirit, sure enough -- but He also gets into the unseen parts and removes the latent illness that lies there. He cares that much. He gets into my heart and tends to the bitterness rooting and growing there with some very special kind of Round-Up. He sees the pain that is killing some precious hope and faith in His goodness that was once there or was once more intact, and as he administers forgiveness, he is submerging me in a bath of healing. He is removing the stains and dirt, and he is applying balm.

Talk about being able to live again! Friend, come over to my house! I am proud of what He's done in here...

My Bank Account

I remember I used to joke with a friend on every payday, "My bank account is full." He would wonder at the idea of 'full,' pointing out that that may be an impossibility. But by my comment, I was mostly expressing my positive point of view towards my own wage. (I was a schoolteacher, but only 24 years old, so I was easily satisfied. I think I still am--never thought I would say it, but "thanks, Dad, for making me be content with a modest sum of money!")

I discovered yesterday morning that my spiritual bank account is full, also. (I wonder if there's such a thing as a spiritual payday? What a marvelous thought--especially if it's periodic and refilled whenever I get desperately low. But God doesn't operate on such economies. Back to the loose metaphor at hand.) When by best friend, C., and I discussed the Bible story of the miserly servant whose debt was forgiven by his master, but who in turn refused to forgive an underling of a smaller debt, it was as if I'd never heard it before. (I had.) As best friends do, C. made it crystal clear to me in that moment, that I have the ability to forgive anything, anyone, of any debt, because it is small in comparison to the oceanous reservoir of built-up love-investments that God has put in me.

I believe it: my spiritual bank account is full. This fact has caused a paradigm shift in hope, that I am indeed empowered by God to maintain a soft heart in hard times. Thank you, best friend, for repairing my hope in the truth.

"The balm of gratitude"

I stole this phrase from Anne Lamott. I'd like to extrapolate on my gratitude, because I do believe it's a balm beyond comparison. I'm thankful for the way God reveals things to us. As Lamott puts it, "if you are paying attention, plenty is being revealed" (2012:52). And I do believe that; I've seen God reveal the truth to me lately in a way that sets me free, a way that helps me realize that the old wineskin just won't do anymore.

Gratitude is a balm of relief because it takes us to the place of revelation and reframing (Lamott's words, again). It takes us out of our fear of pain and failure and into a place where we feel the delights of sand on our toes, the eyefull of a ocean shore, and the reassuring warmth of the sun on our skin -- again. The Lord seeks to refresh us from our weary states, and to enable us to live fully again, no matter what is needing balm. His balm is all-in-one. I'm so thankful for the resilience I find in Him. I bounce back changed every time, not worse off than before, but understanding a bit more about how He loves me, and experiencing in a new way his balm of comfort, freedom, and power.

Rich Soil is Hard Won

Excerpts from Larry Crabb's book, Inside Out:

"The richest love grows in the soil of an unbearable disappointment with life. When we realize life can't give us what we want, we can better give up our foolish demand that it do so and get on with the noble task of loving as we should. we will no longer need to demand protection from further disappointment. The deepest change will occur in the life of a bold realist who clings to God with a passion only his realistic appraisal of life can generate" (Crabb 2007:235).

"The more directly [one] faces  the pain in [one's] life, the more [one] ache[s], and the more [one] ache[s], the more [one] beg[ins] to see God as [one's] one and only hope" (p. 349).

"The Kids Will Teach You Stuff"

That's what my bosses said as they described how the high school students they work with tell them most of what they know about how to serve them better. Really, says B, it's all about conveying to the children that you care about them. It can be so simple to show care. They do it by putting great summer camp enrichment opportunities on their radar screens, and making these seem manageable to their parents and desirable over a do-nothing vege-out summer. They also show care by providing summer job opportunities to instill in them the necessary familiarity with work and the thrill of a paycheck. Or, care can be as simple as taking them for car rides in their convertible to watch the movie "42" on a Sunday afternoon, when S. held onto her hair when B warned them before starting the ignition, "hold onto any papers or anything because they might blow away." That's actually not the relevant story to illustrate this point, but it's funny, so it's worth recording.

But B, on another occasion, took another student to a church (for an errand or something), and after the student looked closely at photos posted on the walls downstairs, concluded about what type of church it was (i.e., what kind of people go there), and B. realized she was right, and hadn't realized that herself without the student's astute, close, between-the-lines observations. (I can't deny, my little sociologist self smiled at this one: a social observer in our midst!)

B, my other boss, talked about the time when some boys were catching a ride home after school and commented that if only he got rims on his pick-up truck, then all the kids who are attracted to the gang life but actually don't like being caught up in it would turn their glance to a better leader to follow. And B said, at first he thought little of the idea. Then he tried it, and it worked.

Racial Progressives

According to Eduardo Bonilla-Silva (2001), among white college students most likely to be racial progressives (about 10% of a white student body falls in this category), white, working class women are the most likely to exhibit/espouse views of racial progressivism.

Which leads me to some big puzzle-piecing in my mind. Most school teachers in the US are middle class white women (about 85% of the teacher work force). So...is it safe to say that most teachers are not racial progressives?

tennis, ankles, and firm so(u)l(e)s

Yesterday I described to C., as we strolled in our swimsuits to lie poolside, that I had rolled my ankle earlier that day on the tennis court in a valiant lunge for a ball. Running shoes aren't fit for the tennis court, because they lack a firm sole, especially the outer edges of the sole that don't allow the side of your foot to hit the court any way but flatly.

Within a beat, she said, "You have a firm soul." I followed up: "You mean, s-o-u-l?" She relied, "Yeah, of all my friends you consider the motivations behind what you do and take it the most seriously."

Which made my heart leap for joy. She's seen me deliberate what to do through many personal dilemmas, and I haven't always been wise. I did my best. It was really heartening to hear her say that, amidst my (now proven to be) missteps, she saw that part of the process in me.

I dare say, affirmative words from a real friend can replace a joy you thought was lost forever. Figuring out who are your real friends is no small discernment, either. Yesterday the sun I felt wasn't only the one that made my skin darker; it was also the warming of reassurance in both these realizations.

MotVocExp

Motivation
to fulfill my
Vocation
has no other
Explanation
than His
daily provision.

Striving in Love

To give voice to love:
it's easy/it's hard

easy: to let impulse compose the poetry, arrange the words, determine the time
hard: to be wise, to walk the patient path, to trust and obey the One who always loves [me/us].

To have a measured gait in love;
To know when I am found, and not lost, in love;
To consider, weigh, and act in accord
with the knowledge I do have,
with what has been set like cards before me,
and
with the balanced love God has set forth as my template:

This is my challenge.

Potential

"I feel like I'm floating," A. said on Sunday
she's talking about
how we're both
in the exploratory
phase of
finding our path

I like having a traveling companion

I hope wisdom stays by my side
even when the twilight along the path is enjoyable
Stay, wisdom! Don't depart me
for even my closest companions aren't enough

But oh,
at least for today
I see this period of exploring
as a time of
marvelous,
delectable

potential


energy

My Ticket to Newness

I have ripped three pairs of jeans in three days. Maybe I should be concerned. I don't think I'm gaining weight or anything, or moving more vigorously than usual, or being more careless than usual. Although two of the three pairs have rips in the butt! Oops. With one of those pairs, it was getting gradually worse, culminating to where it is now, post-machine wash. The third pair, I broke the zipper.

SO, the bright side of all this is: I now MUST buy some new pairs of jeans. And I seriously cannot wait. A great pair of jeans is something I take for granted, but scoring the perfect pair is really fun. The well-worn pair of jeans, think about it: they have been with you through so many scenes and seasons of life.

I'm excited for my new pair(s).

My Jetta

My most valuable possession (in terms of net dollar worth) is dying. Little imperfections are accumulating on my '05 Jetta. It's very, very saddening. Its days of beauty are slipping fast away, and recapturing them is basically not a possible reality anymore. Inside the driver door, the cloth has come loose, probably because my friend's mom who graciously offered to give my car's interior a deep-clean two years ago scrubbed the fabric too hard. The front bumper I had replaced this January is an off-shade of the off-white of the rest of the body; I didn't notice this then because I picked it up late one night where the eve concealed it (smart, I know). The back bumper is not pretty either, now, because where I had it repaired four years ago, the paint has micro-shattered beneath the glossy surface, so that it looks like cracked desert dirt, and there are two scratches all the way down to the black underneath (where on earth did these come from? I wonder if someone hit-and-ran me recently- had to have, right?). The passenger door no longer opens from the outside, even when I unlock it (the result of my minor wreck this past summer, which insurance didn't bother to fix). This all makes me very sad!

 I just need to remember how much of a blessing this car has been, for five years now! I love that it's a stick, that it's 4-door, that it's super fuel-efficient, and has rarely had mechanical problems. It fits my personality ("quick and zippy," as C.B. astutely observed!). I think I might like my next car to also be a VW.

Anyhow, the deeper moral of this story, to link it to the spiritual realm, is: even our prettiest acquisitions in life always change. They do not remain in tip-top shape forever. This is the natural result of entropy in the natural world, a natural process. And if it's a natural process, is it too much to infer that there is something we ought to catch onto as humans in it, as in, how do we respond to the natural tendency of things? The lesson within this might be that constant care over the long haul is the best way to maintain our valued things (and also relationships with loved ones). Don't let the bangs and brokenness accumulate to a point where correcting them seems insurmountable!

Not a haiku

DISCLAIMER: Haikus actually are supposed to be 5-7-5 in meter and don't need to rhyme. So this is beyond a fake.

When you said you're content
The next day I thought
You are heaven-sent.

Sincerity

Did you know that the word "sincerity" means singleness of heart? What a challenge, isn't it! In terms of our faith walk with Jesus, what it takes to be His sincere follower is singleness of heart. The way the heart tends to divide itself and resist absolute commitment is probably the most frustrating thing about being human. Human nature is to deceive oneself into thinking that the heart can capture contradictory aims all in one fell swoop. Wrong answer, alerts the Scripture. That is a fool's mirage, and fools fall for it. I go in the fool category.

The adage, "follow your heart," is a sure ticket to a conflicted, insincere life. I think the reverberations of sincerity in our commitment to Jesus' call -- how He calls us to live our lives, in other words, the lifestyle proper for his followers and friends -- falls directly on our earthly relationships. Our "horizontal" relationships, as Boccacio (and many, many other writers after him) describes. What a challenge! To be a sincere friend, lover, worker, leader, parent, daughter/son -- any number of roles we fill in relationships -- REQUIRES singleness of heart.

 Can anyone second that this is a very high calling? Surely this is a dimension of keeping one's own heart pure, beyond considerations of chastity. A pure heart is an undivided heart, with little to hide because that person fights to keep his heart singular. Make no mistake, foolish human nature: a sincere heart is the result of active resistance to letting cracks, splinters, and divisions emerge. But, remember Jesus has compassion on us in our weakness, as these cracks in our heart are indeed inevitable, but He provides the power (and even the desire) to fight for singleness of heart.

Tampico or Tropicana?

I will be turning 27 years old this year. That makes me feel anxious. I don't feel like I am behind on anything. I am a little surprised about how some of the things in my life have turned out. So I guess the anxiety comes from things I regard as surprises. How many more surprises, Lord? I know that through all trials You are teaching me of your unsurpassable love, and you're opening my life more and more to Your Good News and Your work. But as I said to my friend C. on our car ride to kickboxing last week, I wonder if or how I'll have the heart resources to respond to changes and surprises like this.

In my 27th year (ok, I'm jumping the gun a bit here, as I still have a half a year to go! Phew), I hope that I can trust God more with where He is taking me. I do trust Him a lot in some areas, but less in others. There's that old annoying thought process in me that perceives my dreams and His plans as sometimes at odds. But when those are at odds, He has proven that He brings something better than my expected or hoped-for outcome. He provides a puzzle piece that fits, unlike the piece that I was trying ever so earnestly to force-fit into my so-called, self-envisioned "masterpiece." It has always proven to be the case that the gift of the next season, the next year, the next major life transition, the next move, ushers in blessings never imagined before by the senses. Those prior senses were trained only to comprehend the prior season; they become unfit and even obsolete to comprehend what lies ahead. My prior ways of hoping and thinking become like Tampico compared to Tropicana.

In my 27th year, I want to reclaim the feeling of being special and loved, protected, fearless, and free. I am some of these things now, but added years have introduced some hindrances to these. How do I become ever more free, releasing weights, worries, sources of weariness? To get there, I'm convinced writing will make me free (didn't I tell that very quote to my students, channeling Sandra Cisneros?). So starting today, I will write more often. I will resuscitate this beloved blog, which has seen me through some pretty life-changing moments and has allowed me to chronicle God's close attendance in a variety of seasons.

Saturday morning, sitting in my wooden chair.

Have you sat
In awe at
All He has done?

The way He proportions the body
The way He deepens the soul
The way He made the heart
All these, under His control

Have you looked
Are you hooked
In wrapped attention?

The fact of your senses
Given for pleasure and direction
The mind also delivering --
That you feel ever more of His affection.

Have you asked
At last
For His direction?

That change is but another
Signal of His love
The seasons He makes;
The way dawn breaks.

Have you beheld?
He has excelled
In promises made true.

Time Management

L. always used to kidd me about how I should write a book on time management. At the ripe age of 11 or 12, it was already clear to her (and perhaps others) that I was obsessed with controlling time, and parsed it out very stingily, even to loved ones, because I had a rigid list of things I had to do, or else I felt an encroaching hurricane of chaos impinging on my inner being. The only way to calm the not-yet-even-real storm, of course, is to put it into that preferred bridle of strict scheduling and self-discipline.

Well, in a PhD program, there's this little self-justifying phenomenon of "it's OK, you work so hard, your mind needs a break." Enter the seemingly impossible wasting of chunks hours or even whole weekend days to TV (because nothing's really DUE tomorrow, anyway), stage left, and restless piddling around, stage right.

This week, it came up and bit me. I struggled to complete my formal statement for theory class and was literally chomping down to the last minute to crank out a three-page assignment. I had totally miscalculated the time it would take to read the six readings and produce two short assignments. And I had literally run out of time. It terrified me. I don't want to be in that position again. My mind swirled with two thoughts, "oh no, am I really going to have to ask for an extension on this? What would I say, I couldn't figure it out fast enough?" How embarrassing that would be. Miraculously, I managed to crank it out in those last 20 minutes and turn it in, though I was very un-proud of the product. I'm apprehensive to get it back. But it's out of my hands now, at least. Second, I thought, "this will NOT be happening next week!" so I've figured out a new flow for the four days in between the three days that I do have class. It is a time management puzzle that also includes carefully conserving my energy and mind to have endurance for lots of reading.

I love this life....! A time management puzzle brings anxiety, but not just anxiety all on its own. It is accompanied by a challenge, leading to growth.

Why Teaching is Awesome

Jodi O'Brien & Judith Howard (1996):

"As teachers, we are not mere conduits of facts and figures. Our power to educate lies in our ability to demonstrate how we use knowledge as a means of naming, sorting, and evaluating experience. Through this process, commonly referred to as 'critical thinking,' we model for our students how one comes to develop the habits of mind. [...] This is not an abstract, detached activity. It is an activity whereby the instructor acts as a role model for the process of critical reflection. The responsibility in this process lies in the willingness to speak and to be accountable to the consequences of the positions one takes. [...] An effective critical analysis of difference requires us first to examine our own position, then to determine what we have to contribute to discussions of race, class, sexuality, gender, age and other systems based on our own position, and finally, to teach from this position...neither apologetic[ally] nor evangelistic[ally]. [...] We cannot leave our character undetermined and/or at the door when we enter the classroom."

The Girl You Marry

Felicity, Season 2, Episode 1

Ben: Felicity and I, we might start dating. [looks at roommate Sean.] What the hell is that expression?
Sean: Well, Felicity is...not exactly the girl you date.
Ben: Oh she's not?

Sean: No, she's the girl you marry. I swear-- I'm 8 years older than you. I mean when you were born, I was already in little league. I mean that's a lifetime of experience. ... listen to me, I like Felicity, but you're not ready for that. You know, she is this thoughtful, challenging, complicated girl who examines the world she sees and you're-- you're-- you're like this idiot. I mean it's not your fault, you're a young guy. I'm tellin' you man, you get caught up in this, and it's drama, and it's pain, and you've blown the relationship for the rest of your life.

Ben: I like her. I can't help it. We idiots like Felicity.

This script's content, while implicitly intriguing to me, is actually a little oversimplified. It doesn't deal with the fact that Julie, Ben's previous girlfriend, was no immature girl. But yet, maybe I can see Felicity's 'superiority' when it comes down to being mysterious, many-sided, and more real and compelling in her spirit, in that she is often truly conflicted and undergoes an internal process of decision-making, rather than being impulsive or over-emotional, or steered by emotions, like Julie. (But, I want to clearly say that the world needs its Julie's and they too will be married, LOL.) Felicity is both feminine and human, beautiful and complex. She's never really settled in her mind about a lot of things and comes to conclusions herself, without trying to gather over-thorough advice or weigh in on what others think. That being said, she's had some serious character blunders and missteps. I wouldn't want to be Felicity, for that.  (I don't mean that in a self-righteous way, only that I can only imagine the inner turmoil and despair those decisions and their fallouts must have caused her.)

On another note, I think Sean's stance is an interesting one that represents majority culture's approach to man-woman relationships. The young guy gets this free pass to be dumb for a while. If there's any nugget of truth to be gleaned from this, it's that a 'girl you marry' should be on her toes for the dumb ones. Which would lead either to the conclusion that she befriend them but not fall in love with them, so retain a cool distance, or else accept that they're currently dumb and the time's not right. And if it's the time for her, than he's not the one.

Thank God for Poets

I just stumbled upon this poem again. A 7th-year student in the sociology department first exposed me to it. I heard it again this morning as it was alluded to in an episode of the TV show "Felicity" -- the line about "let the more loving one be me."

How powerful! I often face this feeling like it's a weakness, but thank God for poets who make these human impulses seem more worthy. 

W.H. Auden, "The More Loving One"

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Looking at Old Things in a New Way

I remember being puzzled for a long time about what Jesus meant when he said old wineskins can't hold new wine. In the same way, a new life, a new way of living, can't be carried on while still using the old containers that got us through, day to day. 'Containers' in a metaphorical sense, say those logics and rules-to-live-by that we accessed and used on a daily basis, as much as and as perfunctorily as Tupperware. Jesus' way of living and understanding God turned it all upside down. Time to throw out those mauve-colored, flower-imprinted 70's Rubbermaids, folks, and bring in the Gladware!

Now I get it, more than I used to, anyway, and in a new way. And I would like to offer two positive spins on the New Wineskins phenomenon, which I am now convinced that God throws our way throughout the entire duration of our lives. That's right, He's so dynamic that He sees fit to make our ways of doing things inoperable, obsolete, or just utterly unfitting when we grow spiritually. A girl growing in faith can't sport those dying, old, loosened, unsupportive, and -- let's be honest, homely -- brown flats forever. She needs tighter, more fitting boots (or whatever kind of shoes) that she can wear confidently on the new stretch of sidewalk she's on now. The old ones just won't ever do anymore.

I think only God can give us the power to see old things in new ways. This can be a blessing readily felt and discerned as such, as in the case of example one. Or it can be an immensely painful, gradual revelation or turn-of-plans that God delivers, which forces you to see the old things in new ways, because the old has gone and exists no longer. Imagine it as much as you want, pine for it, and so on, but it is no longer a fact and therefore no longer a reality. Reality has changed and He calls us to see the new reality for what it really is. And to assess all that He is now calling us to.

Example one. This past summer, I spent eight weeks collecting data on alternative certification programs. When the time came to write up my results at the end of the summer, I was thoroughly tired of the data. I had become overexposed to it. I pushed through completing that final report, but it felt like a mere formality, and the finished product didn't do the data justice. I put the data away for four months. And reluctantly picked it back up again in December to write my business final paper. And with the help of my professor, I can honestly say that data and my passion for it was 100% resuscitated. The way I had looked at it -- as boring, dead, with no potential for creating anything interesting -- was totally transformed by December 17th at 5:00 p.m., when I had finished writing about how the data did in fact exhibit trends of resource partitioning theory. I can't explain the experience as anything other than a miracle! My spark and love for a subject matter dear to me became dear to me again!

Example two. This one is harder to stomach, but I have faith that God will bring my understanding of it (dare I even say, appreciation of it?) to the same point of gratitude later in life, when I can understand it better. As it is now, in this instance, which I will leave more vague, I face many happy memories that are now squarely in the past and can't be drawn up to be true again. I have to somehow let the former things stay in the past, not dwell on where my life once was and where it is now. Don't get me wrong, I love my life and where I am. It's all God's doing. But the loss of that blessed shady vine He gave me to comfort me in the sun-scorched places of life (I'm drawing on two Biblical images here, one in Jonah and the other in Psalms [I think?]), it's very hard to do without now. I am slowly learning to appreciate God as the Giver of all good things, but that all good things can't remain. Because maybe they can't hold us where we are anymore, like this once could.

Now's time to have faith.

Melding Identities

Taken from Julie Park's blog:

“We tried to see how people who have to deal with seemingly in-conflict culture or gender identities cope,” Dr. Cheng told me. Their conclusion was that people who have found a way to reconcile their two identities — Asian-Americans, for example, or women who work in male-dominated jobs like engineering — are the best at finding creative solutions to problems.

“Those who see their identities as compatible, they are better at combining ideas from the two identities to come up with something new,” Dr. Cheng said. “While those who also share these two social identities, but see them as being in conflict, they cannot come up with new ideas.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/16/us/16iht-letter16.html?_r=1&

The Toothless Comb

On a cold, Minnesota, post-Christmas night, Grandma, Mom, and I walked over to the local Walgreens for fun. Yes, fun. Walgreens has always been a favorite diversion of mine. Apparently for them, too -- I didn't even suggest it!

In my non-structured state of mind (I'm on a long academic break, remember), I entertained the thought, What trinket do I want/need/could use but otherwise forget in crammed everyday life? I know, a comb! With my new, long hair, I discontinued use of a brush. Now I only use combs. My great transparent one with rainbow colors that T bought me from WalMart on one otherwise average Saturday of errands is now severely handicapped with about 7 missing teeth in the middle of it.

So I found a cute Conair one in the hair accessories isle of this Walgreens, one that was white with hot pink and lime green holly-looking accents. $3.49. OK, I thought, I can hang with that.

Both Mom and Grandmas assumed I must have gotten it for a dollar. And they're not bargain kind of girls. I felt bad saying, "No, it was full price." Anyway, I was pleased with my purchase.

Just a week later, I snapped its first tooth. No more perfect comb! But nothing stays perfect for long. And it's OK, too -- the comb still does its job!

Why I love Mississippi

"To understand the world, you must first understand a place like Mississippi." -- William Faulkner